Writer and blogger living in Cornwall

Tag Archives: scones

This wistful Duffy poem addresses our addictive obsessive relationship with being ‘mobile’…and what happens when our mobility is shot down or ignored. Many of my words have been fewer than 170 characters in the last few weeks so it seemed apt:

Text

I tend the mobile now

like an injured bird.

We text, text, text

our significant words.

I re-readyour first,

your second, your third,

look for your small xx,

feeling absurd.

The codes we send

arrive with a broken chord.

I try to picture your hands,

their image is blurred.

Nothing my thumbs press

will ever be heard.

Carol Ann Duffy

FOOD:

Unable to quit last week’s scone fetish, I relapsed by baking wholemeal flour scones last night. Convinced they are healthier, I ate three. Gym session today has left room for more…so before they are (s)gone here’s a picture:

But, perhaps you’re reading this because, like me, you don’t just eat food, you eat words. They nourish your mind and soul in the same way as fooddoes your body.

Maybe your midnight snack is not (only!) a furtive trip to the fridge but a head-torch under the duvet with the giveaway

klick klick

of your kindle.

If so…this blog is for you.

BLOG INGREDIENTS

In whatever form you get your five a day – prose, poetry, a word that makes your tongue smile – consider my blog an alphabet soup aperitif with which to start your day.

I aim to present you with some poetry, books, and literary events in Cornwall alongside more fundamental nourishment – foodie delights in the county. Serving up reviews, recipes, restaurants and folk who make our taste-buds party from Padstow to Penzance.

Each week you get FOOD and WORDS to snaffle – get your napkins ready…

THIS WEEKEND I ATE…

FOOD:

Home-made scones. Ok, I know. January, in the rain, is not a typical time for a scone scoffing session. But huddled on the couch around the only radiator (oil, I live on a wind-blasted plinth) those scones awakened a part of me long dormant. Rodda’s clotted creamtranscends seasonality. And I swear after the fourth, I saw a little daffy poke his head up out of the hardened earth, dust himself down, and say: “Come on February, I’m bloomin’ ready!”

I echo Mr Daffodil’s sentiment – this is the last grizzly Monday in this bleak month. Bring on the scones!